


Living on a Prayer

by Prelate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, Dean Winchester in Denial, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mary Ships It, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Dean Winchester, Red String of Fate, Sam Ships It, Soul Bond, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prelate/pseuds/Prelate
Summary: As usual, an apparently simple hunt goes tits up when the boys wind up on the wrong side of a 'witch'.  Since she's just a misguided teenager, Sam and Dean decide to let her live – in spite of the fact that she claimed to have cast a spell to bind Dean to his soulmate and slowly kill them both.  Of course, Dean thinks the joke's on her.  Really?  Soulmates?  It's hilarious, until it's not, and he wakes up the next morning with a really pissed off angel perched on the end of his bed.They soon find out that the spell really, really sucks.  Not only is it physically painful for Dean and Cas to be too far apart, but they can hear eachother's thoughts and feel eachother's emotions.  The hardest part, for Dean at least, is having to learn to control Castiel's grace, which apparently is now a part of him and somehow fully restored.  It would be awesome, if it didn't feel like he was caught in the middle of a tempest all the time.  How did Jimmy describe being possessed by Cas?  Like riding a comet?  He wasn't wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, nor am I making any sort of profit from writing this.
> 
> This is set around the middle of season 12, but not really part of the canon storyline. I like to think this happens sometime after Season 12, episode 12. But again, it has nothing to do with the main story, but there are some spoilers.
> 
> Please comment/review! I want to know how I'm doing! :3

Dean knocks back a shot of whiskey, and watches Sam desperately try to avoid a woman old enough to be their grandmother, who's trying to hang off his arm as he pays the barkeeper for their next round. Sam looks at Dean pleadingly as the woman keeps following him, and Dean just gives him his best shit eating grin. What is it with Sam and cougars, though? They always seem to go right for him – like flies on crap. Not that he means to think Sam is crap, because he absolutely isn't, but _still_. He looks like he wants to kill something when he makes it back to their table with a couple beers.

"What's the matter, Sammy? I think that's the best looking one yet," Dean says, using the edge of the table to pop the cap off his beer.

Sam rolls his eyes and downs half his beer in one gulp. "Dean, she has pink hair. And she's like seventy."

"You gotta admit she can pull it off," Dean counters with an obnoxious wink.

"No," Sam grumbles and pulls out his phone, probably to avoid talking to Dean. "Eileen texted me before. There's a hunt in Arkansas, signs all point to a werewolf pack and she wouldn't mind some back-up."

"All right then, we'll head out in the morning. At least this job wasn't too bad," Dean replies, watching the pink-haired cougar lady move on to easier prey – a stoned college jock who's barely holding his head up.

"Aren't you worried, though? I mean..." Sam's laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. "She 'bound you to your soulmate', and supposedly you're going to slowly wither away and die! I mean, that's horrible Dean."

"Shut up, Sam." Dean giggles like a girl as he balls up a paper napkin and throws it at Sam's head. "Freaking witches, man. Do I even have a soulmate? Is that even a thing? If I did, I'm sure she's either a demon or dead by now. She probably thought we were gay like everyone does, except your cougars."

"I'm not even sure she was really a witch," Sam replies with a shake of his head. "Dude, she had a fucking hello kitty poster behind her alter."

Dean is laughing so hard he can't breathe, which feels great considering how long it's been since he's laughed like this. He can't even be mad, really. The hunt was a bust. Their 'witch' turned out to be a teenage girl, and the person they thought she killed was actually a completely unrelated drug deal that went south. Regardless, it's been ages since he and Sam just sat in a bar having a good time. For a moment, at least, he can pretend that Lucifer isn't loose again and they haven't both been to Hell and back. Dean smiles wistfully and finishes his beer.

"Did you see the actual alter, though? She had a Thor action figure there, like Avengers Thor," Dean tells Sam as they head out for the night.

Sam is laughing so hard he chokes and there's tears in his eyes. "And the, oh my God, the cat was named Lestat!"

"At least it wasn't Edward!" Dean answers as he climbs into Baby and thinks that he probably shouldn't be driving, but the motel is literally five minutes down the road so it should be fine.

"Please, Dean, don't tell her parents about the spells and things!" Sam says, looking over at him with big puppy eyes.

It's all Dean can do to stay on the road as he nearly passes out from hysterics. By the time they turn in for the night, Sam already has all the info on the deaths associated with Eileen's werewolf pack. There's four dead, all of them with their hearts ripped out. The scenes were messy and the state of the victims bodies suggests that the wolves are probably newly turned, and not that good at their game yet. Dean doesn't really care. He's dead tired and they have a lot of driving ahead of them. He doesn't even bother to change out of his clothes as he curls up in bed.

When Dean wakes up the next morning, Sam is in the shower. He can hear the water running through the motel's flimsy plaster walls. He rolls over without bothering to open his eyes. As he slowly starts to come awake, he notices something seems... Different. He can't just hear the water running, he can sense Sam's presence – not in the normal way, though. He can hear his heartbeat, can feel a bit of apprehension.

Dean sits upright, and almost vomits as it seems like the whole room is spinning as he moves. Wait. Why could he feel Sam's emotions? Slowly, he opens his eyes.

"Woah!" Dean almost falls out of bed. "Personal space," He wheezes, as he realizes Cas is sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed, staring at him like a lion with a juicy steak in front of his nose. Except... He looks pissed – _is_ pissed. How does he know that, though? He can sort of feel it in the air between them. Cas is furious, and a little... Scared? Dean blinks, and does a double take. He can see Castiel's wings. They're dense shadows, like the way they looked when he saw him for the first time in that barn with Bobby, but somehow more corporeal. They're huge, and barely fit in the room, though that doesn't seem to matter since they just pass through solid objects, clipping through them like a bad video game render. Unable to stop himself, Dean reaches forward to feel them. His fingers just pass though, but something like an electric shock dances across his skin. Cas snatches his hand and pushes it away.

"Dean..." Cas says, more growls like a feral animal, "What have you done now?"

"I don't know? What are you talking about? Sam and I went on a hunt for a witch that turned out to be some stupid teenage girl, and then we had a few beers and I crashed," Dean explains. "Seriously, Cas, that's it."

 _He can see my wings? How can that be?_ Dean meets Castiel's eyes with a mixture of horror and awe. Did he say that out loud? Dean doesn't think so.

"No," Cas says, shaking his head. "I did not."

"Well, shit." Dean gets up, slowly because if he moves too fast everything seems to move with him. "This is the worst hangover ever. I wasn't even really drunk, though. Cas, what's wrong with me?"

"It would appear that some of sort spell is binding us together. A _permanent_ one," Castiel explains, some of the obvious anger seeming to subside. "So... I can hear your thoughts, you can see my wings... That doesn't explain how my grace was restored, unless..."

"Wait. A permanent bond?" He's starting to freak out, honestly. All he can think of is the soulmate nonsense, and how out of nowhere Cas is sitting in his bed demanding to know what stupid mistake he made this time. Dean chokes on a breath he doesn't know he's holding. Does that mean that Cas is his...? There's nothing he can do to stop the panic that wells up inside him. He's vaguely aware of Cas telling him to breathe, that he needs to 'maintain control', but he doesn't really know what that means. It's the sound of shattering glass, and the sudden darkness that engulfs the room that pulls Dean back to his senses. He's sitting on the bed, panting like he ran a marathon, covered in bits of broken glass from the fluorescent lights above him.

"Dean, calm down. Breathe." Cas has his hands on Dean's shoulders, holding him tightly.

"What the fuck?" Sam mumbles as he ventures out of the bathroom in his boxers, careful not to step in any broken glass. "Cas? When did you get here? What's going on?"

"Did... Did I do that?" Dean asks, shakily brushing shards of glass off his clothes.

"Yes," Castiel says flatly. "It would seem that this spell bound our souls together, except that I don't actually have a soul. I suppose the best way to explain it, is that my grace is intertwined with your soul and you now have access to it."

"Wait, what?! So, my soul is like super-glued to your angel mojo?" Dean says, his voice a little too high pitched.

"Not exactly, it's more like a chemical bond of two unlike elements that come to together to form a new substance that is indistinguishable from its original components, no longer able to be returned to its original separate state of matter," Castiel looks angry, but Dean can tell that he's actually terrified. "Human souls are powerful, though. When yours touched my grace it restored it. ...Even my wings. I can fly again!"

"What the _fuck_?" Sam repeats, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"Sammy, I think our fake witch had some real magic." Dean stares at his hands, anything to avoid looking up at Cas.

"You mean..." He glances first at Dean, then to Cas and Dean can _feel_ the moment it clicks in Sam's head. "Well, shit."

"That's what I said," Dean comments, shaking his head.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. You two act like an old married couple anyway. Whatever, we gotta figure out how to reverse this." Sam gets up and pulls on a pair of pants, as Cas snaps his fingers and the broken lights repair themselves instantly.

"We can't," Cas mumbles dejectedly. "If we did, it would destroy Dean's soul. It's taking up most of my focus to keep my grace from destroying him. He will need to learn to contain it himself, but that will take time and discipline."

"If you got your mojo back, can't you just send us back in time and we can stop this from happening?" Dean asks, managing to get his shit together enough to think straight.

"No," Castiel says sadly. "To do that I would have to go with you, otherwise the bond will fail and we'll both die. If I go with you, I won't be able to pull you back. Even then, I don't know if it will have adverse effects on you, as time travel requires a considerable amount of power. It isn't worth the risk. I suppose sending Sam is possible, but I doubt he could prevent it without giving himself away and causing a paradox."

"So now what?" Sam asks, looking at Castiel. "And... What does this all actually mean? That girl said she cast a spell to bind Dean to his soulmate and slowly kill both of them."

Castiel rolls his eyes and sighs. "Well, it might kill us if Dean can't control my grace, but otherwise we aren't in any danger," Cas explains irritably. "As for the concept of soulmates... I don't know. I'm not a cupid. True love in that sense _does_ exist, but I've never heard of an angel and a human being marked as a pair. It could simply work that way because I have touched Dean's soul in the past. Either way, it's ridiculous and should be impossible."

"Ouch," Dean says, "Don't sugarcoat it, Cas."

The look that Cas gives him says it all, really. Dean can't deny that the comment stung. He can still hear Cas saying 'I love you', when he was dying after getting stabbed with Michael's spear. He wanted it to be true, tried to bring it up in conversation a few times after, but somehow they never actually talked about it. ...Not that Dean _really_ tried. He would rather go for another stint in hell than own up to the conflicted morass of feelings he has where Cas was concerned. He definitely feels _something_ for Cas, with all they've been through. It's just... not _that_. Maybe it could have been, if he wasn't a dude. He realizes a bit too late that Cas can hear his thoughts. Shit.

"I'm not technically -" Cas catches himself and shakes his head. "I'll be outside."

"Maybe we should call Rowena?" Sam suggests as Cas shuts the door behind him.

"Sure," Dean agrees, but can't really seem to focus. He's torn between some sort of primal need to follow Cas out that door, and the more rational part of himself telling him to stay put. It's like an itch nagging him to be closer to his angel. The itch turns into a sort of ache, a dull pain deep in his chest. Maybe he's just having a heart attack. He doesn't even care anymore. It takes Dean about two minutes to snap. As he gets up to head for the door, Cas comes back in and slumps against it as he closes it behind him.

"Alright, what just happened?" Sam asks.

"Apparently, we need to remain near eachother." Cas looks like he might explode from anger, but Dean can feel what's really going on in his head, and he's scared shitless.

"Ok, Sam, you go help Eileen. Cas, can you zap us to the bunker? We'll dig into the library and see if we can find something to lessen some of the effects of this, even if we can't actually remove it," Dean says, deciding that he isn't going to sit on his ass feeling sorry for himself. He's going to fight this thing with everything he's got. It might not be evil, but sure as hell is inconvenient.

"That should be fine," Cas tells him.

"Hey..." Dean asks awkwardly. "Can you feel it when your wings touch things like that?"

Cas turns his head to look at where the tip of his left wing is sticking through the edge of the bed. "No, but I did feel it when you tried to touch them."

"Have they always been there? Just, like, invisible?" Dean presses, ignoring the gagging noise Sam makes as he tells them to go get a room.

Castiel nods stiffly and holds his hand out to Dean. "Let's go to the bunker," He says, giving Sam an apologetic smile.

It feels different this time, when Cas flies them to the bunker. It's not instantaneous, and like being sucked through a vacuum. It feels like, well, flying. Dean catches glimpses of places as they flash by them. He can feel the wind tug at his clothes, and the dampness of clouds as they pass through them. He's breathless when they land outside the bunker. All he can think of is that flying is awesome, and he can't begin to imagine how much Cas must have missed it.

"It was the hardest part of losing my grace," Cas admits as they head inside. "I always loved flying, but... It's even better while I can feel how much _you_ enjoy it."

"This shared emotion thing is weird, man." Dean smiles in spite of himself and leads the way inside the bunker.

"I imagine it's weirder for you since I don't really have emotions in the sense that you do," Cas replies, following him down the stairs.

"Actually, you do. Or, at least it seems that way on my end. Whatever you have translates the same way? I don't know. Like, right now you're sort happy because you can fly again, but this whole thing has you pissed off and terrified at the same time," Dean explains.

"You feel the same, but... Conflicted. You don't really want to remove this, but you feel that you are supposed to. Why?"

Dean doesn't answer, he just throws his jacket over the back of one of the chairs and heads to the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. When he gets back, which doesn't take long because apparently even being a different room causes that annoying itch to be closer, Cas is already sitting at the table with a pile of books. Dean sighs and grabs his laptop. He'll leave the books to Cas; maybe he can find something in the database that Charlie set up for them. Charlie. Damn he misses Charlie. She would be beside herself with glee over this shit. He hates thinking about her, really. It always reminds him of how she could have had a perfectly happy, normal life if he hadn't dragged her in the leviathan mess. Well, maybe not. She was happy, until the end. She got to dick around in Oz with a hot girl, met an angel and got to actually live out some of her nerd fantasies with a fairy. Still, his heart hurts when he thinks of how they found her bloody and broken in a motel bathtub, of how she sacrificed everything to save his useless ass from the mark of Cain. Of all the friends and family he's lost, it's Charlie's death that fucked him up the most. Sure, losing Bobby hurt something awful, but Bobby was a hunter. Charlie was just a girl with a big heart and a wild imagination. She was like the little sister he never had, and he failed to keep her safe.

"I doubt she had any regrets," Cas says, placing his hand comfortingly on Dean's shoulder. "She got into an argument with Rowena when we were working on the codex. Afterwards, she told me that she would save you even if it killed her, however, she _hoped_ it would kill Rowena."

"That's just a thing people say, Cas. They don't usually mean it. No one really _wants_ to die for someone else," Dean replies, unconsciously leaning closer to Castiel.

"That's not true and you know it; you went to Hell for Sam," Castiel reminds him. "You didn't want that, Sam didn't want that, but you did it anyway and we both know you would do it all over again. I think it was the same for Charlie."

"You're probably right. Doesn't make it hurt any less," Dean tells him. "Thanks for trying, though."

"I think I found the spell your 'witch' cast on us," Cas tells him, letting go of Dean to walk over to the other side of the table to grab the book he had been reading.

"That was quick." Dean immediately misses the warmth of Castiel's touch, but that's just the spell, right? Cas hands him the book and stands beside him as he reads. It's some really old and obscure Irish Celtic witchcraft. It was meant to be a marriage bond used to strengthen a new union, but can be manipulated to draw two people together if fate dictated that they were soulmates. Apparently not all witches get their spells from books, some of them are born with powers like psychics, and use of this spell helped create couples likely to bear offspring with the desired attributes. The unsettling part, is that it isn't like the usual love hoodoo. It isn't black magic, and isn't meant to be harmful. It doesn't cause romantic feelings where there aren't any, like the potion Becky had drugged Sam with.

If the immediate targeted pair are incompatible, the magic follows the threads of fate and draws them to someone that is. It amplifies what is already there, and creates a telepathic bond as well as physical one. Thoughts, emotions and physical sensations are shared. Any biological psychic ability or power is passed on to the partner as well. There's notes in the margin about a witch who cast the spell on herself and werewolf lover, and found that she contracted the lycanthropy on the next full moon. That would explain how Dean inherited Castiel's mojo. One thing worried Dean a bit more, though. If one of them died, so would the other. Their souls, in essence, were no longer separate entities. Of course, it got even better. The spell would draw them to eachother at all times, and the only thing that would lessen that need to be close was physical intimacy. Dean swallows past a lump in his throat and hands the book back to Cas.

"So, we're actually soulmates then?"

"It would seem so, though as I said before it makes little sense with what I know of that system," Cas tells him, and picks up another book. "We can test that, though. This book has a spell that can reveal the threads of fate. Or, we can summon a cupid, but I'd rather avoid that. They're... Obnoxious."

"You mean like the gold threads we found when Atropos was ganking the people that survived because of you guys unsinking the titanic?" Dean asks curiously.

"Not exactly, those threads determine the course of the person's life. Cupids know when a pair belongs together, because the Fates are the one who sends them their jobs. Soulmates are bound together by an invisible red thread. Cupids can see it, of course," Cas checks over the list of ingredients for the spell, which strangely isn't very complicated. "This would make that thread temporarily visible."

"What are we? Twelve year old girls having a slumber party?" Dean cracks his knuckles and clears a spot on the table. "Let's get everything we need, then. We have all of it here in the bunker."


	2. Chapter 2

Red rose petals, lavender, holy oil and an angel feather – for a spell that's supposed to mess with fate, it's pretty simple stuff. Dean watches as Cas draws the diagram for the spell on the library floor with red chalk. He copies it perfectly from the book, of course. He hands Cas a heavy silver scrying bowl that he places in the center of the glyphs. Dean grinds the rest of the ingredients together and dumps them in the bowl, as Cas lights the five red taper candles positioned at each point of the pentagram in the middle of the diagram.

"We just need some of your blood now," Castiel says, handing Dean a ceremonial silver dagger he dug out of the storage room. The instructions were very specific about using silver for 'purity', so even the candlesticks they used were solid silver, better safe than sorry – especially with magic.

"Something wrong?" Cas asks as Dean hesitates, the blade resting against his palm.

 _I'm not sure I want to know_ , Dean thinks as draws the blade across his skin and lets a decent amount of blood dribble into the bowl.

 _I'm not sure either,_ he hears Castiel's mental reply as he hands him an old dish towel to wrap around his hand, which turns out to be unnecessary.

Castiel's grace, that's still flowing through Dean's body, causes it to heal a moment later with a flash of blue light. Dean rubs his thumb across the slightly tender skin as Cas begins reading the ancient Chinese spell. Vaguely, he thinks that it's for the best that Cas is the one reading the invocation. He doubts he can pronounce it all correctly, but... He can understand every word, even though he doesn't know a single syllable of the language Cas is speaking. It must be Castiel's grace, he reasons, as the angel in question drops a match into holy oil mixture inside the silver scrying bowl. As the mixture burns, a glowing red thread appears, wound around Dean's pinky finger. He and Cas both watch with bated breath as the rest of it slowly appears, with the other end tied to the same finger on Castiel's right hand. After a few seconds, it fades back to invisibility.

"I don't understand. This should not be possible. I don't have a soul," Cas says, and Dean can feel the panic coming off of him – not that's he's faring any better.

"Cas, what do we do now?" Dean asks shrilly, leaning on the edge of the library table because he's sure he's about to faint like some overly dramatic woman in a soap opera.

Cas just shakes his head mutely, and collapses in one of the chairs. Dean understands a bit what he meant by not really having emotions, because he can't really tell what Cas is feeling – just that it's something completely alien to him and utterly suffocating.

"Okay, stay with me, Buddy. We'll figure this out. We can't remove it; fine. But there has to be something in one of these books, or in Charlie's database, that can help alter certain aspects of it. Like, the things the spell does are just conditions, right? So, if I got this right, we probably can't do anything about the telepathy or shared emotions, but the need for physical contact that should be kicking in any time now... We can probably get rid of that," Dean says, and realizes he's rambling to fill the silence. He's never seen Cas like this, and honestly it's terrifying.

Cas sighs heavily and meets Dean's eyes. "That's probably the one thing we _can't_ adjust. Actually, the spell doesn't directly cause any of those 'conditions'. It's just... Side effects. Because there's no distinction where I end and you begin, everything that we are is just, I don't know, jumbled together like two radio stations playing on the same frequency. It still makes no sense to me," Castiel says, shaking his head as if he can will the pieces to fit together. "Either way, that instinctual pull to be near eachother is because the bond is still unstable and the only thing that will fix that is... Well..."

"Sex," Dean says, and Castiel nods.

He doesn't seem repulsed by the idea, but it obviously makes Cas nervous, hell, Dean would rather just roll around in holy oil and light himself on fire. It isn't that he doesn't want to be closer to Cas. Cas is Cas, it's just... He's not gay. He doesn't know how that works, and he doesn't want to know because he just isn't going there. It makes sense, the physical intimacy thing – as much as any of the rest of it does. It shouldn't be that scary, considering he can see inside Castiel's melon. Something about that is way more intimate than any sex Dean has ever had, but still... It's weird, and he doesn't think he can do it.

"We need help," Dean admits, but isn't sure who to call.

Rowena is his first guess, but he doesn't want to deal with her smug attitude, or whatever her help will cost them. Besides, she's hardly trustworthy; her only motivation is self-interest. Like hell if he's asking the British Men of Letters, and none of his hunter contacts would be likely to know anything. He doesn't really know any other angels, and Heaven's sealed anyhow. There's always Crowley, but again, he comes at a price and Dean's pride would be the very least of it. There's no way he's giving that slimeball the satisfaction.

"I think we're in this alone, Dean." Castiel says sadly.

"Is this where I'm supposed to say something sappy about how we have eachother?" Dean bites out, immediately regretting his tone. Cas didn't choose this, and he's scared. He makes a mental note to be more patient with the angel.

* * *

It isn't until it's almost sunset, that Dean realizes he hasn't eaten anything all day. He isn't really hungry, though. Or tired. Or... anything. For the sake of not dying, he decides to make himself a sandwich and leaves Castiel alone to mope in the library by himself. Every step he takes is torture. Earlier, being in separate rooms was tolerable, but every inch he puts between him and Cas comes with that dull, throbbing pain in his chest. He's gasping for breath by the time he makes it to the kitchen, until it suddenly disappears and he can breathe again.

"Dean, stop." Cas is standing behind him, with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. "We need to talk about this."

"There's really not much to say," Dean replies, foraging in the fridge for something to eat. He thought there was lunch meat, but he only finds a week old gas station burrito and a frozen dinner in the freezer that looks edible. He grabs a beer and pops the cap off before gulping down half the bottle. He nearly chokes on it, and swallows thickly. It tastes... Completely _disgusting_. As if he can taste every particle of every hop that was fertilized in rancid cow shit, then fermented to make it. He blinks and stares at the label. It's good. It has to be. They only bought it a few days ago and it's been in the fridge, sealed.

"It's the grace," Cas tells him. "I really miss PB and J sandwiches," He adds sadly.

"So I can't even get drunk," Dean complains. "Wonderful."

"Even if you could tolerate the taste, the grace would cause your body to metabolize the alcohol too quickly to become intoxicated. Well, it _is_ possible, but it takes a _lot_ of alcohol in a short period of time," Castiel tells him, and takes the bottle from Dean's shaking hands before he manages to drop it and get broken glass everywhere again.

"Cool. I'm Captain America," Dean says, his voice dripping with Sarcasm.

"I understood that reference," Castiel tells him with a weak smile.

Dean sits down at the kitchen table and lays his head on the cool surface. "Cas. I don't think I can do this. Food and booze are literally my only coping mechanisms."

"Also sex with random women," Cas reminds him.

"Not going there," Dean replies, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.

"Dean, breathe. We will work this out," Castiel says, standing as close as he can without actually touching Dean, who knows it's because he's unsure of how he will react if he touches him without permission.

"Do I even have to breathe?" Dean chokes out.

"No, but it will help keep you calm."

"I don't think I can be." He's gripping the edge of the table so hard it hurts. Somewhere along the line, he forgets how to breathe and just tries to hold back tears. He doesn't have time for a meltdown, he has to keep a lid on his shit like he always does. He can't fall apart in front of Cas. ...Not that he can even hide how broken he is from the angel anymore. He wishes he could. It's not the sort of thing Cas can fix with a soft touch to his forehead, like a broken leg or or something. He remembers that day when he fucked over Michael, and Cas called from the hospital apologizing for thinking he was a broken sack of crap. Dean never said he wasn't. He's a fighter, who keeps going because it's all he knows, but that doesn't mean he isn't damaged goods.

"Dean! You have to focus!" Castiel is telling him.

Dean zones him out. Focus on what? That he's a useless idiot whose good intentions always make things worse? That he managed to completely and utterly fuck up whatever's left of Castiel's life? How can he even stand to look at him? He doesn't deserve Castiel, not as a friend or anything else.

"Dean listen to me – all of that, none of it matters. You need to set it aside. You need to let it go," Castiel is insisting. "Grace responds to emotion! I can't control it like this! Please! ...Damn it."

"Cas...?" Dean doesn't remember how he wound up on the floor, with his face tucked under Castiel's chin. He's pretty sure no one has ever held him so tightly, and he thinks he might literally die if Cas lets go of him. He wants to tell himself that it doesn't feel good, that he doesn't belong in Castiel's arms, but the only thought in his mind is that Cas smells nice, like the air just before a lightening strike during a summer storm. He senses that Cas has zero intention of letting him go, so he simply goes limp and lets Cas hold him.

"At least... If I don't need to sleep I can't have nightmares," Dean says quietly. "Of course it's a nightmare while I'm awake now."

"It doesn't have to be," Cas tells him, and loosens his grip slightly.

"How can it not be?" Dean asks glumly.

"Well, if you think about this situation without over-analyzing it, nothing's trying to kill us at the moment and this can be very useful once we have mastered it," Cas answers. "We have to get up. Mary is coming in the front door. You can hear her too, right?"

"Yeah, though it's less of hearing her and more like a sort of awareness that she's nearby," Dean tells him.

 _Don't overthink it,_ He tells himself, _Like you do literally everything._ He thinks it's not a terrible suggestion. Cas is right; once he gets over all the hang-ups and finds away to avoid having sex with his angel, it will be useful. He's got angel juice and everything that comes with it. The telepathy thing will be really useful when they're separated on hunts. He wonders if it has a maximum distance, if he can talk to Cas even when he's halfway across the world – like when he prays to him, but maybe he can actually get a response.

He lets Cas pull him to his feet. Thankfully the lights seem to be intact this time. Maybe Cas already fixed whatever damage he caused. It finally clicks, why Cas seems to think he will have such a hard time with his grace. If it really responds to emotion, he's a trainwreck on fire and half the battle is going to be overcoming his own bullshit. That might kill him, no joke.

"Hello, Mary." Castiel nods slightly to Mary, who they find in the library, reading the book about the soul binding spell that Cas left open on the table.

"Hi boys," She says with a fond smile and puts the book down. "This must be an interesting job," She comments, gesturing toward the other book with the spell for revealing the threads of Fate.

"That is putting it rather mildly." Cas deadpans.

"You two look horrible," Mary says, meeting Dean's eyes.

Dean flinches as, just like with Sam, he feels the moment Mary comprehends the situation as her gaze shifts to Cas then back to Dean.

"Oh," She mumbles, her eyes wide. "I know how close you two are, but is this really a good idea?"

"We did not choose this," Cas tells her wearily. "A witch cast the spell on Dean yesterday."

Dean can't think. He can't even breathe, not that he needs to and damn that's a weird sensation. Through Castiel's grace, he senses that not only does his mother think he and Cas are together, shes assumed they were from the moment she met the angel. Dean knows she's hardly the first person to come to that conclusion. Are they that in sync? _Soulmates_. They're actually fucking soulmates.

"Dean," Cas squeezes his shoulder gently. "Breathe. I can't control my grace when you panic."

Dean takes a shaky breath and sits down in one of the chairs; Mary and Cas sit on either side of him. He hates that he can feel how worried Mary is, about both of them. It's not the same as the way he feels Castiel's emotions; his are much stronger and somehow a part of him. At least Sam will never be able to lie to him again.

"See," Cas says, obviously listening to his internal monologue, "It can be useful."

"I don't know what to do," Dean tells Mary. "This is going to kill me." He launches into an explanation of how Castiel's grace is affecting him, how there's no way to stabilize it other than physical intimacy, and how that is _never_ going to happen.

Mary frowns as she listens to him speak. "If it's permanent, and that's all it takes, what's the problem. It's nothing you haven't done before, right?"

Cas shifts uncomfortably in his chair and Dean groans in frustration. As much as Dean hates chick flick drama, he has to admit that he doesn't feel as awkward having this conversation with his mother as he might with Sam, or someone else. It's easy to open up to her, in spite of everything that's happened since her resurrection, and her defection to the British Men of Letters.

"She's your mother, Dean, that's why," Cas tells him, "Because she's family."

"Right," Dean mumbles and looks up at Mary. "We're just friends."

Mary raises her eyebrows. "I barely know either of you, but I can tell that whatever you are goes far deeper than 'friends'."

"But-"

"It seems to me that you have a few big decisions to make. I'll help however I can, but I have seen something like this once – years ago when I was a teenager on a hunt with my father. You'll give in eventually, and fighting it will make you completely miserable. The thing to remember, is that this spell doesn't create something that doesn't already exist in some capacity. Your souls want this, right? That's what this means, I think," Mary explains, flipping through the pages of the spellbook.

"Mary, what should we do?" Cas pleads.

He doesn't want to fight it, and Dean feels like shit for pushing him away. He just can't go there. Not with a guy. He doesn't hate gay people, hell, the ones he knows are some of the best hunters and kindest people he's ever met. It's just not for him. That door closed years ago, if it was ever open to begin with.

Mary shrugs and reads over the description of the spell again. "Just give in, a little at a time. It looks like platonic physical contact alone is enough for now," She tells them and sets the book aside. "One thing a time, you'll get there when you're ready."

"I'm not gay!" Dean complains. "I can't..." His voice trails off and he stares vacantly at the table in front of him as if it holds the meaning of life. He feels like he's being childish, and he probably is, but he doesn't care.

"There is such a thing as bisexuality," Cas says irritably.

"Yes, and I hear it's much more tolerated now than it was before I died," Mary adds. "There's also a thing called denial, and I'm sorry but you're not hiding it well," she says and winks at Dean.

It's official. He hates them both.


	3. Chapter 3

The novelty of not needing to sleep wears off fast. At first, it's awesome. Dean has all the time in the world to binge watch Game of Thrones while Cas entertains himself by cataloging the artifacts from a storage room that no one's touched in decades, and adding everything he knows about them to Charlie's database. By the third night, Dean is bored out of his mind. He passes the time by helping Cas. Naturally, they work well together and have everything in the room stored, numbered and able to be searched for in the database in no time at all. Dean thought he would hate it, but the tediousness of the tasks Cas gives him help keep his mind off everything else. He suspects, knows, that it was the angel's plan all along, but he doesn't call him out on it. He's trying to help; Dean knows that.

Mary left in the morning on the fourth day, to meet Ketch for a hunt – vampires holding out in an abandoned warehouse in New Mexico. Dean still hates the Brits, but he supposes Ketch isn't so bad. They're not so different after all, and there's far worse things a natural born killer could get up to. At least he's killing things that need killing, and keeping innocent people safe, both from monsters and himself – not that Dean's a fan of his brutal methods. Still, he could be worse and Dean doubts anything bad will happen to Mary with someone like him in her corner. Cas isn't fond of the Brits either, but he does seem to have a grudging respect for how efficient they are. Dean's just sad to see Mary go, because he isn't sure he wants to be alone with Cas.

Not long after she leaves, Cas asks Dean to join him in the living room. It's an unused bedroom that he and Sam dragged some furniture and a TV into, so they had a place to hang out that wasn't the kitchen or library. Dean decides not to argue. So far, they've been doing alright with the bond. Just as Mary suspected, a platonic touch here and there is enough to subdue the annoying itch to be closer. Mostly. Dean has been noticing that it doesn't really go away anymore; it's always there, like background noise.

There's other things he's been seeing for the first time, as well. He hates to admit it, but he _likes_ Castiel's little touches – a brush of his fingers against his palm while they're working, the warmth of Castiel's hand on his lower back as he holds a door open for him. It's scary how easily it happens. Dean's caught himself intentionally brushing up against Cas as he walks by, or resting his hand on his arm as he watches Cas type information into the database. It's not just the touches, though.

He's caught himself staring at Cas, and picking up on stupid little things – like the way he smiles just slightly whenever Dean catches his eye, or how he sometimes talks to himself as he works. Dean can't help by notice how carefully he handles the old books and artifacts in the bunker, with his long, nimble fingers that never seem to have a speck of dirt on them. ...And his eyes. More than once Dean has gotten lost gazing into the sapphire depths of Castiel's eyes while the angel speaks to him.

He shakes his head and wills the thoughts away as he follows Cas into the living room. Dean immediately picks up the TV remote, but Cas gently takes it out his hands and puts it back on the small coffee table. He looks as Cas questioningly as he gestures for Dean to sit next him on the couch.

"We seem to be managing this decently, so I thought I could try teaching you to control my grace," Cas suggests, as he gets comfy and sits cross-legged, facing Dean. "I am honestly not sure if this will work; it's not something I have ever needed to be consciously aware of."

"So, what's the plan?" Dean asks, a little worried by how nervous Cas feels.

"My grace fluctuates depending on emotions – both mine, and yours. Normally, it lies dormant unless I call upon it – other than passive abilities, obviously. Aside from that, it only ever acts on its own as a defense mechanism if I am in danger and unable to consciously defend myself. I assume that is what is being happening, because your soul is an alien force that's been absorbed into it," Cas tries to explain. "I think what's happening is that it wants to flow through you as it should, but if I allow it to it will overwhelm you because you don't have the tools to contain it. I can, I think, because I have better mental discipline. I have noticed, since I began to feel and understand human emotions, that it has changed – become more volatile, but I have always been able to contain it aside from a few times that I have felt something so intensely that I couldn't. I thought it might work for you if you can control your mental state. So, I am going to teach you a basic meditation technique. Then, I will release my hold on my grace, and see if you can take control of it that way."

"Sounds easy enough," Dean says with a nonchalant shrug.

"It won't be," Cas nudges Dean and directs him to sit that he's facing him. "Get comfortable, you will need to be still."

Dean sighs and tucks his legs under him as he turns to face Cas. He scoots forward a bit so that their knees are touching, and nods to let Cas know he's ready

"Close your eyes, and try to breathe with me. Count seven seconds as you inhale, hold your breath, and exhale," Cas instructs. "Try to focus only on your breath and that count of seven, and empty your mind as best as you can."

Dean does as he's told. Breathing in the slow, even pattern comes easily, but he quickly becomes restless. He's never been good at sitting around doing nothing. He's bored, there's a cramp in his leg, and his ear itches. It's so quiet that he can hear Castiel's steady heartbeat. He wants to finish season three of game of thrones.

"Dean," Cas says, with a hint of irritation. "Focus. Acknowledge distractions, but don't dwell on them. Keep your attention on your breathing."

Dean sighs and tries again, finding that it comes easier if he just stops trying to count and focuses on Cas. He can feel each breath that Cas takes through the bond, and it only takes a moment or so for him to fall in perfect rhythm with Cas. At that moment, Dean realizes that the connection between really is undeniable, and something about the complete harmony between them is more intimate than any sex Dead has _ever_ had. It feels amazing, and he's not even going to try and deny it. Cas knows. He has to, because Dean can feel how content he is as they breathe together. Of course, he has to sneeze so hard he almost falls over and ruin the moment. And yeah, they were definitely having a moment.

"Bless you," Cas says, his eyes sparkling with contained laughter. "You feel calm. Better?"

"Yeah," Dean admits awkwardly. There's not much point in trying to be macho about it. Cas knows – knows that there's almost no tension left in his body, knows that it feels _good_ in a way that Dean can't even begin to describe.

"I don't know if what you just did will let you control my grace, you may need to be able to do that on your own without using me as an anchor," Cas says. "But, again, I don't really know. Considering the nature of the bond, it might work. So, let's try."

Cas gathers up Dean's hands in his and laces their fingers together. Dean tries not to think too hard about how soft his hands are, or how much he _likes_ the feeling of the seemingly simple contact. Dean can tell the instant Cas releases his grip on his grace. In Dean's mind, he's standing on the edge of the ocean in the middle of a hurricane. It doesn't feel threatening, but it's an intense, powerful sensation he's never felt anything like before – except maybe when he had all those souls trapped in him when he was going to try and blow up the Darkness. It feels like there's a storm raging all around him, and inside him. It's all he can do not to be blown away, struck by lightening, or dragged out to sea. The only thing that seems to anchor him is Castiel's light hold on his hands. He focuses on that, and as he does he can feel and see the bond in his mind, the little red thread pulling them together.

The storm, he realizes as he latches on to their bond, is Castiel's essence. It's not just a storm, though, it's raw celestial power and somehow Dean knows that it won't hurt him. The crackle of electricity on his skin in invigorating and makes his hair stand on end. The gale-force wind is only a soft caress, like a loving touch. It makes sense, if Castiel's grace is the equivalent of his soul, then it feels like it should – Untamed and and little intimidating, but gentle and beautiful beyond description. Dean faces the storm and breathes with Cas. Slowly, the surge of energy fades to be replaced with a deep sense of tranquility that seems to spread through him. They easily fall into the same state as before, except that Dean is totally aware of everything that is Castiel surrounding him, _in_ him. He doesn't want to break the connection, but they can't sit there forever.

Deans opens his eyes and stares shamelessly into Castiel's as he loosens his grip on his hands. "You feel like this _all the time_?" He asks breathlessly. "I can see what Jimmy meant when he said that having you inside him was like riding a comet."

Cas smiles in an amused sort of way. "I never knew it was like that, but feeling it the way you do is... Enlightening, to say the least."

Dean closes his eyes and breathes. If he stays calm, he can reach out and touch the grace within himself. Even if he lets it be, he can feel it – like a mild electric current running through his body. "I guess, acknowledging this stupid bond and going with it is enough to keep a lid on this."

"Yes," Cas says with a smirk, "There aren't even any broken electrical fixtures. Still, it _will_ lash out if you lose control of your emotions, and it can harm or kill someone depending on how you _feel_ , not what's right," He warns Dean in a serious tone.

"This is such a pain in the ass," Dean whines. "But you know, I have to admit it... It's not so bad, all of this. I'm gonna miss greasy burgers, but I can fly, so..." He shrugs and gives Cas an awkward sort of smile.

He's not good at feelings, he never will be, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't have to _say_ what's going on in his head. Cas knows, and he doesn't have to worry about whether or not the angel can actually understand it, because he can. It's a primal sort of thing that doesn't always translate into words, and doesn't _need_ to.

* * *

Keeping a lid on the grace turns out to be a lot harder than a bit of measured breathing or thoughts of Cas. Cas has had take back control of it a few times over the following days, in order to keep Dean from blowing up the bunker. Dean knows that Cas suspects moving on to the more physical aspects of the bond will help, as the bond itself is still somewhat unstable, but Dean won't have any of it. It's much more manageable since he and Cas have set up a schedule to meditate a few times every day. They can tolerate being in different rooms now. Dean can take a shower without Cas having to sit on the toilet reading a book – not that they ever did that.

It's about a week since the whole disaster started when Sam finally comes back. The hunt was a mess, and he and Eileen aren't sure if they actually got the whole pack. Either way, Sam is happy to be home and doesn't waste a single opportunity to tease Dean and Cas about their lingering glances, or unconscious touches. Dean doesn't mind. He welcomes the normalcy of their usual banter and friendly sniping. He does a bit better managing the grace with Sam around, but there are a few times that it gets away from him and causes havoc. Luckily, Cas seems to be able to abra kadabra away everything he fucks up, and Sam thinks it's kind of funny how stuff goes haywire whenever he's pissy. Dean wonders if he'll ever be able to use it the way Cas does, and not just have it as a raging maelstrom that exists inside of him. All Dean really knows, is that he has cabin fever and is itching to get outside. Cas doesn't think it's a good for them to go hunting. Dean can't contain the grace well enough, and Cas won't be much use while his focus is spent doing it for him. Much to Dean's chagrin, Sam agrees with the angel. In the end, he and Cas decide to go out for a drive.

After being cooped up for a week, it feels amazing to be outside – driving with the the windows down with Bon Jovi blasting through the speakers. Dean gazes longingly at a Dairy Queen as they drive by, and realizes that he hasn't eaten or slept in days. He feels fine physically, better than he has in years, but he'd kill for a vanilla ice cream cone – if only it wouldn't taste like bullshit. Cas only pats his shoulder sympathetically as the Dairy Queen vanishes on the horizon behind them.

"When you are driving, you feel like I do when I'm flying," Cas observes as Dean hits the gas and breaks every speed limit in Kansas when they hit the open highway.

"When my father finally taught me to drive, and let me me go off on my own every now and then, it was the first time in my life I ever had any real freedom," Dean tells him. "He kept Sammy and I on a very short leash. I like to think he did it to protect us, but sometimes I wonder."

"He's the reason you are uncomfortable with the idea of being intimate with me," Cas observes, as Dean slows down a bit in case the fatass cop that's caught him a few times is sitting in his usual spot around the bend up ahead.

"Yeah, he wasn't all that open minded about that sort of thing," Dean says evasively. "He was a product of his time."

"Dean, you know I can see your thoughts," Cas tells him, and rests his hand on top of Dean's where it's laying on the seat beside him.

"Yeah, I know. Which is fine, because I don't want to talk about it," Dean replies, and focuses on the road ahead of him. He can feel the grace fighting against him, as he struggles to stay calm. It's not that hard if he just watches the road, and the landscapes that drift by. That's always been soothing to him. He just doesn't like to think about his father, not about how he raised them, or about how he sold his fucking soul so Dean wouldn't die. Those are the good memories, painful, but not that bad. It's when he starts thinking about everything else that it starts to go south. He pulls off the road onto a patch of gravel and turns the car off.

"Sammy and I spent almost every holiday alone, and Sam's happiest memory was someone else's thanksgiving," Dean tells Cas. " _My_ happiest memories where when my Dad was off on an hunt, and Sam and I would go fishing, or blow up fireworks in the park – kid stuff that they we were never really allowed to do. We never got to be kids."

"Perhaps his way of raising you was misguided, but I don't believe your father had bad intentions," Castiel says quietly.

"No, he loved us. He was just shit at showing it, and obsessed with hunting to the point that everything else in his life was secondary," Dean explains, gripping Baby's wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. "All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me. I looked up to him more than anyone; he was the only role model I really had, but he was never there."

"I can understand that," Cas says, squeezing Dean's hand gently.

"I know you can, Cas." Dean lets go of the wheel and slumps back in his seat. "When I was fifteen, he caught me jerking it to a gay skin mag. I don't even remember where I got it – probably stole it from a gas station. I was a hormonal teenager, and I was curious. He yelled himself hoarse at me, and threw it out. I don't think he really meant it; he had just gotten back from a hunt that went bad. But, it stuck with me all those years because all I had to hang onto was wanting to make him proud, and John Winchester wouldn't be proud of a son who was anything but a straight, red-blooded American man."

He doesn't even notice when Cas takes back control of his grace, until he feels the absence of it like a gaping void in his chest. He doesn't mind. It isn't like he can contain it while on the verge of another meltdown. Really, this has to stop. He's always kept his crap under wraps, so why is it coming out now? He leans into the warmth of Castiel's touch when he lays his hand on his shoulder, in the spot where his hand print had been for so long.

"Mary Winchester is proud of you," Cas reminds him. "And need I remind you that she thought we were together from the beginning?"

Dean closes his eyes and lets his head rest on Castiel's shoulder. His thoughts drift to his previous meltdown when Cas held him so tightly he could barely breathe. Nothing about that felt wrong. Cas makes him feel him safe, content... Loved. Being with Lisa was little a like that, but he always had to be the stronger one, always had to keep his demons bottled up and packed away where they could never see the light of day. He can't hide it from Cas, and doesn't want to anymore because Cas gets it, and doesn't judge him for it. Everything about being with Cas feels right, so why is he still fighting it? It's high time for him to start living his own life, free of John Winchester's shadow. He lifts his head and looks into Castiel's eyes.

"Kiss me, Cas." Dean whispers and closes his eyes as Cas takes his face in his hands and pulls him close.

It isn't just a kiss. It's the start of a new chapter in Dean's life, maybe the path he should have chosen years ago. He feels like he's drowning in the sensation of Castiel's lips on his. It isn't like kissing a woman. It's deep, passionate, and a little feral. Cas isn't all that experienced, Dean can tell, but it doesn't matter because he can feel how much love his angel has for him and it threatens to swallow him whole. It seems like it goes on forever, since neither or them really need to breathe, but nonetheless they're gasping when their lips finally part.

"I love you," Dean says, unable to stop himself as much he hates saying those words so freely.

"I know," Cas says and ruffles his hair.

"Did you just make a fucking Star Wars reference?"

Cas only smirks and kisses him again, pinning him to the seat and all but crawling into his lap.


	4. Chapter 4

They're making some real progress, Dean has to admit, but he still gets a little flighty whenever Cas gets too handsy. He's made his peace with the fact that his feelings for Cas are anything but platonic, but he's still not quite ready to dive into the deep end. Cas is patient with him, mostly. For someone whose only sexual experience was with a reaper that had it out for him, he's a lot more confident than Dean would have ever expected. He knows why, obviously, because of the bond. Cas trusts him, and doesn't worry about any of the awkwardness because he's known Dean long enough to be sure that he's comfortable with him. Dean wishes he could say the same, but he doesn't have the same innocent and curious approach to the idea of intimacy with another man. Cas has never had to feel like something as stupid as sexual preference would make him less of a person, that he would be a disappointment to everything he was meant to be. He gets it, Dean thinks, or at least he's being patient enough. Either way, Dean never imagined for a second that he would ever be intimidated by sex. To say it's a nightmare, is a massive understatement. Maybe he can just keep lying to himself and think it's just because it's Cas and he's afraid he'll fuck it up, and his angel deserves better.

Dean's getting better at keeping a lid on Castiel's grace. Even if he loses his shit, it's much easier to bring himself back under control. He's learning to actually use it, as well. Little things, like willing objects to move, or doors to open for him, he can do almost effortlessly. In the same way that it fluctuates with his emotions, it responds to his intent. If he thinks hard enough at a kitchen drawer to open, it will. He thinks little things like that will become second nature over time, like breathing used to be.

They have the bunker to themselves again; Sam's off on a solo hunt for a vengeful spirit in a town that's about an hour away. It's a cakewalk, or at least it should be. Dean's pretty sure he only left to give him and Cas some space, and knows he's lying about the hunt. He can't put his finger on exactly what Sam isn't telling him, but either there is no hunt, or it's something worse than a shitty ghost. On the third day after Sam left, they decided to go for a drive again, and find a nice place to go fishing for the afternoon. They've just about got everything packed into Castiel's crappy pick-up truck when Dean's phone rings.

"Sammy?" He asks, trying to shove all the fishing supplies in the steel toolbox in the back of the truck.

"Dean!" Sam says, and Dean hears what sounds a fight in the background. "I'm so sorry, but I need back-up!"

"Sam! What's wrong?" Dean asks, hopping down off the truck's tailgate.

The only response he gets is the sound of someone female screaming and the tell-tale thud of a body hitting the floor.

"Demons!" Sam yells, obviously some distance away from the phone. "Too many!"

The line goes dead, and Dean swears venomously. "Change of plans, Cas. We're going hunting!"

Cas sighs, but doesn't bother arguing. "Okay, just give me a moment. I need my coat."

"Sure," Dean says, smiling like an idiot.

Cas just wouldn't be Cas without that stupid beige trench coat that's a few sizes too big. He has other clothes, but the only thing they've ever seen him choose over his carefully reconstructed version of Jimmy's holy tax accountant couture, is a blue flannel that Mary picked up for him because it 'matches his eyes'. It does, though. Dean wishes he would wear it more often. Still, it's not like he can blame the angel for being sentimental. He genuinely cared about Jimmy. Besides, Dean drove around for ages with a torn, bloody trench coat in his trunk because he couldn't bear to let go of the only piece of Cas he had left after the leviathan fiasco.

Dean wonders if Cas was listening to his thoughts because when he comes back, he's wearing a pair of jeans with a black t-shirt and the blue flannel. He's got a spare angel blade, which he tosses to Dean. Sam has the knife, so it's the next best thing. Dean sticks it in his boot, and hides it under his pant leg.

"How were you planning on getting there?" Cas asks, buttoning up the flannel. "Driving, or flying?"

For a moment, Dean had forgotten that flying is even an option. It's been so long since Cas could fly. It's hardly a tough choice to make. They can't waste time. There's no telling what sort of trouble Sam managed to get himself into.

"I don't even know where Sam is, though." Dean paces the garage for a few minutes, trying to narrow down the options in his head.

He can figure out which phone Sam took, and track the GPS on it. Maybe. Cas watches him for a few minutes, before he grabs Dean's hand when he's close enough. He pulls him close and kisses him softly. Dean melts into the kiss and sighs.

"I can always tell where you two are," Cas tells him, and presses his had gently against Dean's chest. "The carvings on your ribs can hide you from other angels, but I altered the spell some time ago so that it has the opposite effect for me. Well, for Sam, anyway. I could always find you either way, because ever since I pulled you out of hell there has been a tiny trace of my grace within you – like what's left behind when an angel claims a vessel."

"Well, let's go." Dean holds his hand out for Cas, who takes it and pulls him close.

* * *

When they touch down, it's outside of an abandoned industrial park smack in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There's nothing else visible for miles, and no signs of life in the immediate vicinity – aside from the weeds poking through the cracks in the overgrown parking lot. Even the buildings are rusted out, empty husks. It doesn't look like the place has been occupied in fifty years. Something doesn't seem right, though. There's a strange sort of hum in the air that makes Dean's hair stand up and gives him goosebumps.

"It's warded against angels," Cas explains, narrowing his eyes. "That is what you are feeling. It's the same warding that was used on the warehouse where Sammandriel was held. In order to enter, four seals must be removed. It's not difficult, but..."

"There's a metric fuckton of demons in there, and it's a lot of ground to cover when we can't tell the location of seals. We need a team of hunters; not just us," Deans says, finishing Castiel's sentence for him, with an f-bomb for good measure.

"I suppose we have to ask Mary," Cas suggests.

The last thing Dean wants is to send his mother into a demon-infested shithole, but he doesn't see any other options. It's Sammy they've got in there, after all. They've got to get him out. He hates considering it, but Dean knows they might have to ask the Brits for help. If Ketch will pitch in, Dean's sure he and Mary can handle it. He _almost_ would rather call Crowley, though. Actually, it's not a bad idea.

"No," Cas tells him firmly. "Only as a last resort. I trust Ketch more than Crowley, however it is a _very_ thin margin."

"Fine," Dean relents and fishes his phone out of his pocket to call Mary and ask for her location.

As luck would have it, she's sitting in a dirty little diner in Montana with Ketch, who doesn't even bother to look up as Dean and Cas slide into the booth with them. Mary gives them a welcoming smile and a suggestive wink. Dean rolls his eyes, and the entire exchange goes over Castiel's head – until he senses Dean's annoyance and slight embarrassment. Dean quickly explains the situation to Mary and Ketch, how much ground there is to cover, that there's at least thirty demons patrolling the place, and how Sam must be alive because Cas can track him. Ketch, either doesn't care, or knows better than to ask how exactly Cas is aware of Sam's condition and location.

"Alright, so as long we're quick about this, we'll have Sam free in no time." Ketch makes a disgusted face at the tea he's drinking; Lipton apparently isn't up to his standards. "I'm more worried about the angel warding than the demons. They go down easy enough as long as you get the jump on them. Honestly, I don't think the angel's really necessary here, but if they've gone to these lengths to keep him out, maybe it's best not to take chances. So, I'll get two of the seals. Dean and Mary, you grab the others, and we'll meet in the middle."

"That sounds great and all, but I can't help with the seals," Dean tells him, desperately hoping to avoid him finding out about the bond. It's none of the Brits' business, and it might even put him further up on their shit list.

"I guess that would make sense," Mary says thoughtfully. "You have Castiel's grace in you because of the bond spell, right?"

"Damn it, Mom." He meets Ketch's eyes, and silently dares him to give him crap about it.

"What sort of bond spell?" The hunter inquires, in a tone that's both curious and slightly threatening.

"It is Irish pagan in origin," Cas explains. "From a rather obscure coven that no longer exists. In essence, it binds two souls together so that they are inseparable. A witch cast it on Dean recently. Acclimating to it has been... A trying experience."

"How the bloody hell does an old pagan marriage bond work on an angel?" Ketch asks incredulously. "You lot don't have souls. Unless... You chose to fall, right? Maybe enough humanity has rubbed off on you – literally, I assume?"

"That's enough, Arthur," Mary chastises him, and gives him a warning glare as Dean denies it until he's red in the face.

"Still, something like that is incredibly useful under the right circumstances – especially if it gives you access to your little guardian angel's powers," Ketch comments, mostly to himself.

The whole idea of Ketch knowing about him and Cas makes Dean's skin crawl. He doesn't need, or even slightly want Ketch's opinion, but he keeps his cool as he watches the British hunter sketch possible counter warding on a paper napkin. Dean barely resists the urge to reach across the table and choke him as he sits there clicking his pen, lost in thought. Maybe it would be easier if he actually sensed any ill intent from Ketch, but all he feels is a sort of intense curiosity about the extent of their bond, and a focus on possibly disabling the wards from the outside.

"So, this place has multiple structures, and the demons are scattered throughout a few different buildings," Ketch says as he taps his pen on the table. "I'll see if Mick can do a bit of hacking and get us a blueprint or drone footage, since I assume you can't get close enough to tell us the general layout."

Dean lets out an aggravated sigh as Ketch excuses himself to go call Mick somewhere less conspicuous. They're wasting time. He knows they need a plan of attack, but he's worried about Sam. He just wishes the plan didn't have to include the douchiest douches in the history of douches, but he knows He and Cas can't do it alone – hell, they can't even get near the place.

"Do you think what he said is true?" Cas asks thoughtfully. "About the bond working because of how much I have been exposed to humanity? Thinking about it, I have retained all of the emotions that I experienced when Metatron removed my grace."

"That's sort of above my pay grade, Buddy." Dean stares longingly at Ketch's barely touched bacon cheeseburger. "Holy shit, I miss food," He complains and strains to see Ketch outside, but he must be on the other side of the building. ...Because that's not shady at all.

"How's it been? Getting better?" Mary asks them.

"We have made decent progress through meditation," Cas tells her, "However, Dean still refuses to-"

"That's enough, Cas," Dean hisses, cutting him off mid-sentence. 'Let me make love to him', that was what Cas was about to say. At first, Cas glares angrily at Dean, but his expression softens when he senses Dean's nervousness.

Of course, Ketch chooses that moment to reappear. "Fuck's sake, mate. Pick up some lube and go for it. I know how these spells work. Besides, you might like it. Ever been pegged? It's kind of nice."

Mary kicks him under the table, and he looks over at her with raised eyebrows. "Does Mick have something for us, or not?" She asks, giving him a warning glance.

"As a matter of fact, he does."

* * *

"We need to talk about this," Cas says to Dean as he restlessly paces their motel room that's not too far from where Sam is being held.

"I don't like the plan, either. But, it's all we've got – unless you wanna let me call Crowley," dean replies dryly. "Right now, we just have to stay put until Mom and Dick-bag can break the seals."

" _Dean_."

Dean rolls his eyes and sits on the bed next to Cas. Of course got them a room with one bed – not that it matters, considering neither of them need to actually sleep. He knows Cas isn't talking about Sam's mess. He's being pissy because Dean can't man up and go much further than making out just yet. Partly it's still the subconscious squeamishness about being with a guy, but lately he's been worried about how to make it a good experience for Cas. He wants to show him how awesome good sex can be, but he doesn't really know what to do with another dude's junk. Cas is content to just follow his instincts, but Dean knows that's only going to get him so far. Besides, his time of thinking sloppy rutting like horny teenagers was good, ended when he was a horny teenager. Sex is an art as far as Dean is concerned, and he likes to think he's the fucking Michelangelo of, well, fucking.

"I don't understand why this has to be so complicated," Cas complains. "Touch me the way that you like to be touched, or how you like to touch yourself."

That gives Dean an idea, actually. Hadn't part of the description of the bond said that they could share physical sensation? He isn't sure if it works, because Cas doesn't really feel much – given that he's basically invulnerable to most things.

"It does. I feel what you do all the time," Castiel tells him. "By far, it has been the most difficult part of this for me. I will have to find a way to fix your bad shoulder. It bothers me endlessly."

Dean gives him an apologetic smile. "You should have said something; I don't even notice that anymore. I guess I'm used to it. It's been dislocated like four times. Anyway, can I try something with you?"

Cas nods, and regards him curiously as he unbuttons his soft blue flannel. He pulls Cas close, and kisses him softly, letting the angel deepen the kiss. At least Cas doesn't taste like 'molecules'. There's some normalcy, at least. Now that he's actively thinking about the shared physical sensations aspect of the bond, Dean notices that he can tell how his touches make Cas feel and honestly it's awesome. He doesn't feel the touch itself, but the effect it has on him is mirrored by Dean's body. The angel is very easily aroused, and a hot kiss against the base of his throat has him moaning as Dean slips his hands under his shirt to touch bare skin. Dean steadies himself and tries to breathe. Too much of this and he'll cream his pants before he even gets anywhere. The intensity of it is overwhelming, and it's obviously going to take some getting used to. Grudgingly, he separates himself from Cas and kisses his forehead gently.

"Lay down, Cas."

Cas sighs and does as he's told. Dean senses his uncertainty as he falls into the bed beside him. He's expecting Dean to ravish him, to hold him down and... Well, it's a lovely image, but Dean has other ideas.

"Close your eyes and relax," He tells Cas as he unbuttons his jeans and slips his hand inside to lightly stroke himself through his boxers.

Cas gasps and rests his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean lets his own eyes slide closed as he tugs his pants off enough to free his straining cock. He isn't going to last long, at least not until he can teach Cas how ride it out a little longer. He ignores the mindless instinct to go right for the prize, and slips his shirt off. Gently, he trails feather-light touches across his own chest, pinching and rubbing at his nipples. Beside him, Cas is making the most adorable little noises and nudges himself a little closer. Dean can feel him tremble slightly as he slides the flat of his hand across his inner thigh and finally grasps his cock firmly.

"Dean!" Cas whines as he squeezes gently and slides his thumb across the slit.

Dean vacantly thinks to himself that his angel is packing some serious equipment, judging by the considerable bulge in the jeans that he's unbuttoning with shaking fingers. Dean reaches over and swats his hands away.

"If I'm right about this stupid bond, I'm going to make you come for me, and I don't even have to touch you," He says mischievously. "Just let me."

Cas huffs indignantly and rolls over on his side so that he can take Dean in a rough, merciless kiss that leave his lips tingling. Dean responds by stroking himself in a slow, steady rhythm. Cas hangs onto him for dear life, chanting his name like a prayer. Seeing the normally calm, collected angel come undone is the most beautiful thing in the world. Dean lets his eyes slide closed again, and imagines Cas above him, inside of him – pounding him into his memory foam mattress back at the bunker. Cas moans incoherently and breathes raggedly as he tries to hold himself together.

"You gotta let go, Angel." Dean speeds up his strokes and focuses on the fantasy of Cas fucking him senseless. He knows Cas can see it in his mind, and he can barely keep control of himself.

"Come for me, Cas." Dean doesn't know how long he can hold on for, he can feel the climax rushing up to meet him and he slows his strokes to try to and draw it out a bit longer.

"I-I Can't..." Cas is saying. "Please Dean," He begs, writhing in pleasure as Dean languidly massages the very tip of his cock, squeezing and dragging the edge of his nail across the slit. He can tell how hard it is for Cas to keep his hands off of himself, and he loves every second of it.

"Let go, Cas. You gotta give in to it." Dean isn't sure how he can actually form a sentence, given how his entire body is tingling with both bliss and barely contained grace.

He feels the moment Cas finally snaps and loses his grip on his grace as he comes with a strangled cry of something in Enochian. It sends Dean over the edge, and the orgasm hits him so hard that it's like he's having one for the first time. He notices, but doesn't even care, as the motel windows shatter out into the parking lot like a bomb went off as he rides out the waves of pleasure coursing through him. They both just lay there for a few moments, at a complete loss for words.

"Cas," Dean says in a breathy whisper. "I think we're take gonna loud sex to a whole new level, you know, when we get there."

Castiel's hand is shaking as he waves it at the broken windows, that suddenly become whole again, as if nothing happened. "That was..."

"Fucking awesome," Dean says, tangling his fingers into Castiel's hair and pulling him into a soft kiss.

"...'Fucking awesome'. Yes." Cas mumbles, tucking his face under Dean's chin.

"We need to clean ourselves up," Dean says, nudging him and smiling at the fact that Cas just dropped an f-bomb. He's pretty sure it's the first time he's ever heard Cas swear, other than a 'damn it' here and there.

"Mm. Hm." Cas lazily snaps his fingers and the mess vanishes.

Dean doesn't even try to resist as Cas just holds him tighter and slips his arms around his waist. It feels good, just laying together basking in the afterglow. Dean always felt like he was a little too clingy after sex, but he guesses he won't have to worry about that with Cas, who doesn't have a single thought in his mind other than wanting to be close to him and feel his warmth.


End file.
